


Blood and Wine

by geniewithwifi



Series: Forwards and Backwards [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 5x05 speculation, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Oliver taking care of Felicity, Soooo much angst, Time Travel, accidental attempted suicide, havenrock, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewithwifi/pseuds/geniewithwifi
Summary: Things run high in the lair after Ragman finds out Felicity's involvement in the destruction of Havenrock. Felicity doesn't handle it well, retreating inwards so much she becomes a danger to herself. Continuation of Hauntings of the Future. Reading that first is recommended, but not necessary.





	

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: accidental attempted suicide, and mentions of suicide. Also mixing of medication and alcohol. 
> 
> Deals with Felicity’s mental state regarding Havenrock, and alludes to things events that happened in Hauntings. I blame yespleasehawkeye for this on tumblr. She loved Hauntings so much that she convinced me to ignore my homework and write a sequel... which then got split in two. There will be one more in this series, and I promise it will be LIGHTER. So much lighter. And if you know me, I love writing angst. This first part with Felicity is very much a cathartic releasebecause I drew from my own experience with depression and family. 
> 
> This is an obligated tissue warning.
> 
> As always, reviews are encouraged, loved, appreciated, give the author love and rejuvenation, BUT not required.

Felicity wanted to be alone.

Knowledge and experience had told her that in times such as these, human interaction was imperative, was more than necessary to sooth the ache. It came in the silent companionship with Oliver, in his steady breathing as he rode the Ducati on patrol, the smallest connection left between them. This exact same need was what had her at a bar one night, drinking  herself into tequila, only to be stopped by a handsome cop. Which turned into her burying her pain with sex. Which was then repeated over and over again until it was natural for her to call him her boyfriend. It just kinda happened without her doing anything.

As much as she knew she needed someone to fall into, Felicity demanded her solitude. She didn’t want to be ‘soothed’. The silence of the loft was what she craved, an unhealthy behavior. Billy wanted to come over, but she wasn’t in a headspace to entertain. And the one man that she used to be able to trust to be non-judgemental, to just let out all her pain and he would shoulder it for her, was left picking up the pieces back in the bunker.

In the silence, the emptiness returned, the solace of clouded thoughts slowed her mind, made it numb. Penance for her mistake, her ‘reward’. The one she deserved. Just like she deserved every word Rory had flung at her.

 _‘You murdered them! All of them! Because of you, because you weren’t good enough, my entire family is dead. My younger brother. My father, my mother died in the flames of that missile you redirected. You targeted my hometown and destroyed everything!_ _You’re incapable of doing anything right._

_Because of you, Wild Dog was captured and tortured! Because you sent him in without any of us! Why are you on this team anyway? You’re worthless. ‘_

Felicity slammed the loft doors shut, screaming out ‘STOP IT’ to the demons in her mind, the ones that were relentless. She knew the sure fire way to make them shut up. Right by the fridge, in the expensive wine rack Oliver had purchased - the one she didn’t have the heart to get rid of - were three bottles of expensive Cabernet Sauvignon. 

She grabbed not one, but two bottles of wine, just in case. It seemed like the very best idea to drink, to stop feeling and just ride the elation the alcohol briefly gave her. Drinking herself to oblivion.

Foregoing the glass, she uncorked the first one, a rich cabernet, and guzzled as much as she could take in one swig. The demons fled as the liquid filtered down her throat, burning, scorching everything in its path.

Two seconds later, one devil snuck back, and whispered in her mind, a fading imprint of something she had laid to rest months ago.

_You’re unlovable._

She wants to fight it, but how can she when the truth was right in front of her: Yes she was. It’s why Oliver had lied to her. He didn’t love her, despite the fact that he kept saying he did. You can’t lie to someone you truly love.

It was why her father left. No-- her father hadn’t left, her mother had. Donna had whisked them both away, lying to Felicity. But for years all that pain of thinking that her father didn’t love her, it was still there.

One true statement couldn’t wipe out years of self-degradation. The agony of self-hatred. Why else had she reflected the blackness of her soul in her appearance? To distance herself from her mother, as well as to make known the ridicule she inflicted on herself.

_You’re worthless._

What was the point? The point of her existing? Her entire career was gone. No amount of applications were answered. She had even begged Oliver at one point to let her be a technical advisor or something. _Begged._

He had gently turned her down, informing her that there were no positions available, and despite that, it wouldn’t be good for either of them to spend day and night together again. She needed space, he’d reminded her. And he did too.

So all her avenues were exhausted. She had an income, from her stocks in PT, but she needed purpose. The Arrow Cave, yes, was enough, but that had been where she had failed. The one thing she was an expert in and when it really mattered, she had stumbled. She had obliterated an entire town and no amount of apologies could ever make it up.

But her days were filled with the reminder of happy memories turned sour. And so now where her nights.

Her vision became blurry and Felicity wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the wine or the tears coursing down her cheek. She took another gulp of wine, coughing when a sob coincided with swallowing.

Curled up on the couch, she held her breath, waiting for the heaving sobs to quiet, and the spinning room to stop. Time slowed, her brain froze, and in that second, she realized that she was cold. Through and through.

Letting out the breath, her limbs started shaking.

There was a breeze in the loft. The balcony door was open.  When did that happen? Did she open it? Or did she leave it open this morning?

She burrowed under the blanket she always kept on the couch. It helped a bit, but her body would not stop rocking. Caffeine would help. Maybe.

No, her anxiety pills would.

Just after what happened with Havenrock-- even the name made her flinch-- Oliver had insistent that she at least see a doctor. And she did. Perhaps he thought that was all that was needed: pills to make her better, to fix her.

She was too broken to fix. Pills just stemmed the side effects, but it was her core that was rotten. No medicine could cure that. But she pretended because Oliver had enough to deal with, besides her suffering. She was _fine._

The lie she told herself every morning.

But right now...Right now, she couldn’t believe it. Felicity wasn’t _fine._ She was the furthest thing from it, a damaged doll, slowly melting from the fire inside. The bad kind of fire, not desire, but the one that threatened to consume her. The cold fire.

The pills were hidden in a drawer, in the back. The junk drawer. Three would be fine. It says… eight… maybe? In 24 hours. She’ll just take three now, and three in an hour and then wait for the morning. Yeah.

The alcohol helped the meds slide down her throat, a torrent of nausea held back by more wine.

Back to the couch she went, the blanket her armor. Once again she realized that the doors were still open to the outside, but she was just too tired to get up and close them. Felicity was just tired, tired of being worried over, tired of feeling guilty, tired of the demons creeping in the back of her mind.

She just wanted to sleep.

Placing the almost empty wine bottle on the coffee table next to the other one, filled with more of her poison of choice, she curled down on the couch. Sleep sounded like the best course.

Just as she was about to consort with her nightmares, her phone started ringing. The offending object was in her purse over by the door. It was probably Billy, wanting to know if she was okay.

SHE WASN’T OKAY! WHEN WOULD THEY GET THAT!?

She rolled over, burying her face into the couch. The ringing stopped, until it started again. A thought slipped past the devils and informed her that it could be Oliver. What if he was hurt?

That had her moving. What if Oliver needed her? Despite her mistakes she could at least try? What would it hurt?

_You could get him killed._

Felicity overestimated her soberness. In her haste to get up, she over-balanced, her bare feet tripping over the blanket encasing her feet. Her arm knocked into the bottles and they crashed to the floor, glass covering the floor she was heading towards. Her forearms took the brunt of it, glass cutting beads of blood. It mixed with the spreading wine stain.

“Shit.”

Felicity tried to stand again, but forgot about the blanket entwined around her legs still. Her once protective armor turned against her, tightly binding her. She saw the corner of the coffee table rise up to meet her, pain in her temple the last thing before what she had been craving early came unexpectedly.

Sleep.

* * *

* * *

After calming Rory down, Oliver was exhausted. He’d barely had two hours sleep the previous night, with a full day of mayoral activities and an emotional explosion in the bunker to clean up. Which is why it took him a full minute to process an alert coming up on one of the computers.

Another person dying by sword and arrows.

Tobias Church, right before he was taken into custody had mentioned someone was after him. A guy who went by the name Prometheus.

He had specifically emphasized the arrows and sword.

Knowing Felicity would want to know about this, he grabbed his phone, hoping that the hour he had given her was enough for her to cool down.

Her phone rang six times before going to voicemail. Thinking she might have just missed it, he called again.

Voicemail.

Perhaps she was in the shower, he reasoned, but a coil in Oliver’s gut insisted that something was wrong.

He called again ten minutes later, on the Ducati. Six rings and then ‘you reached me, leave me a message. oh and Oliver? Try turning it off and then on again.”

Felicity wasn’t picking up her phone. The last time this had happened, her and her mother had been kidnapped by Felicity’s crazy ex.

Well, _that_ ex was dead, and he was the new current ex. 

The humor was doing nothing to lift the dread of anxiety. Oliver reached the loft in record time, parking at the curb.

An elevator was just opening and he slipped inside, the familiarity soothing him slightly.  Not fast enough, he reached the top.

He knocked, but heard no movement inside, just her phone ringing from him calling one more time. He knocked again, louder.

“Felicity?”

Unsure about invading her private space, (she could just be sleeping) but worried sick, he found the spare key in the spot they always left it. Opening the door, all his senses on high alert, he cautiously peered around.

What he saw stopped his heart.

“ _FELICITY!”_

Her body was crumpled face down, broken glass scattered all over the floor under her. A pool of red liquid surrounded her, a wine label soaked next to her head.

Flashes of last December, when she had been shot, flickered through his mind, as well as the time he found Thea dying in this exact space. The extra memories drove him forward, to her side.

He first checked for a pulse, two fingers against her carotid. Nothing. There was nothing. No heartbeat. Frantic, he moved her away from the glass, uncaring that a piece caught the back of his hand.

The wine/blood mixture had stained her light blue dress a dark red, sticking to her skin. As a last attempt he once again looked for a pulse.

There.

One beat.

Two beats.

It was slow, barely there but it was something. He had dropped his phone in his haste to get to Felicity, but it was in arm's reach. Oliver quickly dialed 911, picking Felicity up over his shoulder.

He ignored the elevator, opting instead for the stairs. She had seconds, maybe minutes left to live, and damn it if he would let it happen again. She was too important to him.

The ambulance was there by the time he reached the lobby. An emergency call from the Mayor put him at top, top priority: one blessing he was grateful for.

The EMTs tried to take her from him, but Oliver refused to let her go. As long as he was touching her, he was grounded, was able to focus. The second he was no longer in contact, the panic would set in. And Felicity _needed_ him.

He gently set her down in the stretcher, which the EMT’s loaded into the back of the ambulance. He followed after her.

“Sir, I can’t have you in here.”

He leveled the man with the deadliest glare in his arsenal. “I’m her Emergency Contact.” Was all that was needed.

Another small blessing. After John had left the team, Felicity had updated her emergency records, since he was no longer her fiance, and Dig was in no position to make unilateral decisions.

The medical people kept throwing question after question in his face, questions for which he wished he had the answers. As they cleaned off the wine on her arms, he caught a glimpse of long, deep cuts on her forearms.

Bloodloss.

Something terrible had happened, but as much as Oliver could infer was that she had been drinking and had tripped.

But that didn’t explain why her heart rate was so slow.

“We’re losing her!” 

Those words triggered something in him, causing time to slow down and speed up simultaneously. One second they were pulling out the defibrillator, the next Felicity was fine and they were pulling her out into the emergency room of Starling General.

 That’s where he lost a hold on her.

And the panic set in.

* * *

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe._

No air was coming in or out of his lungs. It hurt too much.

Every thud of his heart, had agony radiating from his chest.

_What if?_

What if she died? What if this time wasn’t so lucky? What if he lost her like everyone else? He wouldn’t be able to go on.

“Oliver!”

There was a man in front of him, taller than him, shaking him. He sorta recognized...him?

“Curtis?”

“Oh thank god. I was really worried about you and I’m already worried about Felicity, I can’t worry about you also.”

“How--How did you find me? “

“When you didn’t pick up, I pinged your phone. Also, twitter has a hashtag for you. #MayorHandsomeSpotted. There was a tweet about you in the hospital and I just happened to be on twitter at that time..”

The man kept going but Oliver tuned him out. A woman in a white coat was approaching him. Hopefully that was Felicity’s doctor.

“Mayor Queen? You’re Miss Smoak’s emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Please come with me.”

He follows her automatically, mechanically. He’s been in these halls too many times not to have memories, all bad, taking him back. The dread coils tighter.

“Mayor Queen, Miss Smoak’s blood work came back. Not only does she have a high blood alcohol concentration, one that we assume was quite high when you found her, but she had traces of benzodiazepine in her system as well. The sustained blood loss and a concussion.. Well. She’s lucky you found her when you did.”

Numb, he watched as the doctor walked away, not feeling lucky at all.

* * *

It’s in the hallway that the memories come rushing back. Felicity is lying unmoving in the hospital room, the cleaning smell cloying to him. A blood transfusion line runs down into the inside of her arm.

He pushes into her room, and takes a seat next to her bed. Oliver needs contact with her, and her hand is begging for him to take it. Though she’s unconscious, he needs the comfort.

The memory in particular was a dark time in Russia. He’d just been promoted to _kapitan,_ just battled Kovar and killed many of his so-called brothers. Most of Taianna’s village had been killed in the battle.

His grief had been so bad, his self-hate choking, that he had fondled his gun and was about to take his life. Put the gun between his lips, finger on the trigger. He would have pulled it if a blonde savior hadn’t appeared to stop him.

This is the time she had been talking about.

Oliver doesn’t remember specific details--he had been in shock and untrusting the entire time, even with his almost perfect memory. Something about wine and blood. The exact state he had found her in.

But the clearest sentence was this: _“_ _Everything that you’ve experienced here, it’s made you into the man who saved my life. “_

For a time, he thought she meant metaphorically. That he had given her a purpose in the Arrow Cave, helping him through her love of technology.

Then the Count happened, then Slade happened, and maybe it was physically. Perhaps he was meant to save her from the evils that he created.

He never thought that he would save her from herself.

Suddenly, the heart monitor picked up, and Felicity opened her eyes. She looked confused, looking at her surroundings. The befuddlement transitioned to alarm, and she looked at him, at _him,_ for reassurance.

“You’re in the hospital.” He informed her. After he had said it, he realized how dumb that was. Of course she knew she was in the hospital. The expression on her face said as much.

“What… what happened?” Her voice came out rough, and he immediately grabbed the water on the bed tray, letting her take a sip. One long draught came out coughing, and he helped her sit up more, so that she could breath.

When that was settled, she turned to him again.

“Oliver. Why am I here?”

“How much do you remember?” She’d hit her head. The doctors had told him that she had a slight concussion, enough that it was able to knock her out. Temporary amnesia was a possibility.

“We were at the Arrow Cave, and Rory found out that I… oh God.” She squeezed her eyes shut, groaning. All he could do was grasp her hand in comfort, letting her know that she wasn’t alone.

“It’s okay, Felicity. He’ll come around.”

“But it’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You prevented _millions_ of deaths. The fault lies on Damien Darhk, not on you.”

“But-”

“What else do you remember?” He needed to know, needed to know how she got herself in that situation, if it was intentional or accidental. Felicity was worse off than he thought, and that cut him to the quick. He didn’t _know_ how bad it actually was. She didn’t tell him. And that hurt.

“I remember going home, and drinking some wine. I think I drained the whole bottle. And downed some anxiety pills. Oh! Oh, what was I thinking. I could’ve, that’s… damn. I’m sorry, Oliver. I’m so sorry but the demons wouldn’t go away and that was the only thing I could think of to make them stop. I know you’ve lost so many people and I don’t wanna be one of them and--”

“Hey.” He paused, making sure he had her attention. “Hey, it’s alright, you’re okay now. Do you remember anything else?”

Her brow furrowed and he could practically see the gears turning in her mind. “Just that, oh! My phone was ringing and I tripped standing up to get it and I think the wine bottle--”

She abruptly cut off, looking down at her arms. They were both covered in bandages, her palms as well. The wound on her head looked worse than it was, so much so that the doctor decided it didn’t need to be wrapped. It was the concussion on top of the alcohol mixed with the benzos that had them worried.

As well as the major blood loss.

“Oliver, what _happened?”_

As he relayed all that had occurred since she left the lair, he watched her reaction. Felicity drew more and more into herself, the hand that he held gripping him tighter and tighter. By the time he had gotten to what the doctors told him, she was panting, and had her eyes closed.

“If I hadn’t called you, if I hadn’t decided that something was wrong, Felicity you’d be dead. Is it that bad? I thought you were getting better.”

Tears pooled and started falling onto her cheeks. “I lied.” She whispered. “I lied to you. I thought that if I just pretended that everything was okay, I would be. If i pretended that our relationship was okay, that the bomb on Havenrock didn’t affect me, that losing my job was just a temporary setback, then maybe it would be true. I mean, that’s what you do.”

“I’m not a healthy example for coping, Felicity. That’s how our relationship failed in the first place.” He had used the Hood as a way to escape his demons, and to this day, that was a small part of why he pulled up the hood. He wanted to help his city, and maybe help himself as well.

“I know. But it was so much easier than facing it head on. i mean, how do you live with yourself, knowing how many people you killed?”

Oliver cleared his throat, it tight with unshared emotions. He loved Felicity, wholeheartedly, and he knew that he had to help her. Pride and secrets be damned. He didn’t like to talk about Russia, yet in the past three weeks he’d told her more than he wanted.

Plus it was this experience that saved his life in the first place.

“There was a time where I almost didn’t.” He said, staring at her palm, turning it over and over, rubbing his thumb against her soft skin.

He knew she must be shocked, her silence speaking more than any words could. Oliver pressed forward anyway.

“In Russia, I had, uh, killed a mob boss. Civilians died, caught in the crossfire because I couldn’t let things go. The pain was so bad I put a gun to my head.”

There was silence in the room. Oliver was struggling to find the words, the courage to tell her exactly what she meant to him.

Finally. “Why didn’t you?”

He met her gaze. “Because of you.”

“Me?”

“She came from out of nowhere. Stopped me in my tracks. A time traveler from the future there to save me from my fate. _You_. A future you. You said to me --words that I laughed at because I was a dark menace on people’s lives-- that I had saved your life and it was your turn to save mine. I think you were talking about this experience right here.”  

“You knew this was going to happen?”

“I didn’t, I swear I didn’t. You think I would make you go through this just to close a damn time loop? Hell no. I love you too much to ever want to see you suffer, especially if it’s for selfish reasons.”

“Then why…?”

“Felicity. I have saved you a lot. It could’ve been any of those times, the Count, Slade Wilson. I didn’t know. It wasn’t until you were here and stabilized that I even remembered the phrase ‘blood and wine’.”

Felicity pulled her hand out of his, raising it to cup his cheek. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t have to. He understood her as he always did. In the midst of her pain, she was trying to sooth _his_ pain.

“You need help. If not me, then someone. Curtis, maybe Evelyn. You need to tell someone. How you’re feeling. If you keep this bottled up, then this scenario might repeat itself. Will repeat itself. I’m here though. I will always be here for you.”

He made her cry again.

“Oliver…” She drew him towards her, and he embraced her. Felicity sobbed into his neck and he just gripped her that much tighter. The love of his life needed him and he would be here for her. There was no need for revenge, no need to go hit the streets and leave her side because Damien Darhk was dead.

It just sucked that a dead man had such a powerful influence on their lives.

When he felt that she was ready, he pulled back, handing her a tissue. She smiled in thanks, wiping away the salt stains.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll try. I really will.”

“That’s all I ask for. You’re the strongest person I know. You will get through this, I promise.”

A knock on the door had Curtis peeking in.

“Can I-?”

“Of course.” He wouldn’t monopolize Felicity, especially if it was Curtis that she could talk to best. Which made him slightly jealous because there was a time when it was _him_ that she could talk to.

In which she told him about her day. For years.

He stood up, heading for the door. Just as he was about to reach it, to let Curtis all the way in, Felicity called his name.

“Thank-you. And, I love you. I don’t say it much, haven’t since the… you know. But I do. Love you.”

He couldn’t help the sad smile. But he didn’t say it back. Not now, not when she was doing this to herself. It hurt too much to say it.

“I know.” And he left the hospital room, weighed down because this was going to be a hard road for her, A long treacherous one, but he would help her get through it.

However, the first thing he was going to go do was to go find that ring. The wedding ring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Where do you think Oliver hid the ring? Tell me in the comments!


End file.
